


Just Another Night Job

by tardis-eneth-nin (flippinsirens)



Series: Tumblr Writing Challenge [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hunt, Vampires, night-job, slight wincest if you squint really really hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:03:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flippinsirens/pseuds/tardis-eneth-nin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anon asked: Sam and Dean, night-job</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Night Job

**Author's Note:**

> First in my tumblr drabbles, I hope you enjoy~

It had been a crazy fucking night. Taking out that vamp nest was a pain in the ass and, well, neck. But that terrible attempt at a pun was mainly due because Dean was thrown into a fucking wall. Again. It seems that he and Sam are always thrown into something that causes them to go into a state of temporary paralysis. Usually walls. 

Anyway, those vampires? Yeah, total bitches in Dean’s opinion. Right now, all he wanted to do was maybe take a shower if he had the energy and sleep for a month. It didn’t help that he was always somewhat sleep deprived one way or another because even though they stationed themselves at the Batcave, travelling everywhere in a car for hours on end was still tedious and tiring. 

Sleep was a must. The shower was optional. What? It’s not like he has blood everywhere, just a lot of dirt and sweat and he’s fallen asleep in worse unhygienic conditions than this. 

Sammy on the other hand could use a shower. A really nice long one with extremely hot water. The gigantic moose is fucking covered, almost head to toe, in vamp blood. A little bit of that might actually be Sam’s blood, too, now that Dean thinks about it, because, damn, he was bombarded by three at one time. So, yes, Shower for Sam and Sleep for Dean. 

It sounded good in theory at least. Only twenty minutes in the car already and Dean’s nose was wrinkling from the smell coming off of both of them. Yeah, nearest motel was probably another thirty minutes. 

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Dean glanced at the time and realized that sunrise wasn’t that far away and their sleeping schedule was going to be so messed up for a while. He’s always hated hunting vampires for this very reason.

The half-hour passed in relative silence, the only sounds coming from the occasional squeak of Baby and the tires zooming down the road. So, when they found a motel and settled into a room before the early morning birds and shit started chirping, it was actually kind of peaceful and relaxing. 

They threw their bags on their respective beds and Sam moved towards the shower first, limping and dragging his feet because, honestly, if Dean didn’t know him so well, he would probably say that Sam was about to fall face first onto the dingy carpet. Luckily though, that wasn’t the case and Sam made it to the bathroom perfectly fine, thank you very much. 

“Hey, Dean?” Sam called while he turned the shower taps on, waiting for the hot water to kick in, if it ever did. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve had to take a shower without it.

“Yeah?” Dean replies as he makes his way towards the bathroom, first aid kit already in hand because there was no way Sam came out of that undamaged.

A small quirk of Sam’s lips and a sigh of relief. “Thanks, man.”

“Well, if you’d stop gettin’ thrown around everywhere this wouldn’t happen.”

“Like you can talk, Mr. Oh-look-a-wall-i-wonder-if-it’ll-be-friends-with-me,” he smarted as he pulled off his blood-dried shirt and tossed it on the floor. Turning around, his allowed Dean to see the worst of his damage. 

It wasn't necessarily a gash. More like… what Wolverine would have done if he had been involved. Three long, bloody, slightly jagged, and probably deep enough to worry over cuts ran from Sam’s right shoulder to the middle of his back in a diagonal. “Yeah, this’ll take some time, dude.”

“Should I jump in the shower first?”

“Probably, wouldn’t wanna run outta hot water just yet. It’ll also help clean it somewhat, just don’t turn the tap all the way.”

“Yeah, Dean, got it.”

“Hey, I’m jus’ sayin’, man, you got your ass kicked good tonight.”

“So did you!”

“Yeah, but I’m not the one who needs a shit load of stitches.”

“Shut up and get the fuck outta here, man.” It didn’t hold any venom and Sam quickly stripped bare and got into the shower, making sure to do as Dean said and turn down the tap to where it was just a lazy stream of soothing, warm water running down his back.

While Sam was busy in the shower, Dean had changed out of his clothes and into something clean. Or… well, somewhat clean. They haven’t had time to do laundry in a while, give ‘em a break.

Feeling a little better—he’d feel much better after he stitched Sam up and washed himself, too—he laid down on the bed for a bit, trying to adjust to the stiffness of the bed and the musty, old smell of the room that he hadn’t noticed until now.

He must have dozed off because he doesn’t remember the shower shutting off or Sam calling his name until the other is shaking his shoulder and Sam’s damn hair is dripping water on his face—Dean’s going to chop it all off in the middle of the night soon.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbles and gets up, shakes out the sleep from his system and follows Sam to the bathroom to stitch him up. 

Sam only chuckles a little bit and stands facing the mirror, hands braced on the sides of the grimy sink while he waits for Dean to get started.

“Well, it prob’ly won’t get infected, which is good.” Dean comments as he pours some hydrogen peroxide down Sam’s back—they both got tired of using alcohol to clean cuts and whatnot—and wipes around the cut while it bubbles. 

Sam hisses at first contact, the burn growing until it starts to fade, to which Dean only pours more on. 

“Oh, hey, don’ be a baby, Sam. It’s only a little burn, you wimp.” One could hear the fucking smile Dean has plastered on his face.

“Fucker.”

“Oooh, not ‘jerk’? C’mon, Sammy, toughen up.”

“I’m going to kill you. Slowly. In your sleep.” Sam replied as another slosh of the peroxide slid over his wounds.

“Yeah, yeah…” Dean dabbed away the peroxide after a few moments and got out the suture utensils to get to work on patching up Sammy.

It was quiet, save for the occasional hiss Sam ground out when Dean tugged too hard or accidentally brushed against one of the other cuts. Any sassy comment that Dean could have made about Sam being a wimp wasn’t even attempted as the older brother concentrated. 

He hated doing this. Fixing up Sammy. It always reminded him that they weren’t immortal, that death could be waiting for them with every hunt, that one day something will happen, and one or both of them will die. Possibly tragically as seemed to be the case with Winchesters and people affiliated with them.

But it was a necessary burden, he supposed. Because it also meant that Sammy survived and that they had made it out, that they had saved some more people and that they could live another day or two.

An hour passed and finally Dean was done. Smiling and patting Sammy on the shoulder, he cleaned up and packed away the first aid kit once he was out of the bathroom, leaving Sam to do whatever it is he was going to do. 

“Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah, Sam?”

“No more night-jobs, man. Our sleeping cycles are gunna be fucked.”

They both chuckled as they turned off the lights and crashed onto the stiff beds, ready to sleep for a week if possible.


End file.
